By Tonny Wandella

There is a nude wall somewhere with a picture of us.
Within the confines of this broken frame we reside frozen.
And time will not startle us it seems: we became the rolling stone
When we posed lazily moments before that inept shutter,
Which immersed us into the flooding flash,
And curved a memory out of a moment long gone.

And we lied side by side under a withering tree,
A blanket of leaves on our feet.
In that heaven, I can tell, long as the skewed frame sways;
We had glee.
Beyond that cracked dusty glass we seem like an illusion; a riddle? I can’t tell.

Tangled up in despondency while we tried to salvage what is left.
Whilst staring into the queerness of its mystery.
With time even its lucidity eluded us.
And I longed sanguinely for a resolve;
Hoping you and I will be forgotten.
But in this blur reverie it seems, am rushing into the arms of desolation,
Where we still hang in the same nude wall.

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